


they tell you that you're lucky

by mcleodsy (raine_go_away)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Fluff at the end though, M/M, NHL Prospect Shenanagins, Non-Linear Narrative, Panic Attacks, Superstition, just nolan things, luck, the real antagonist here are self-imposed expectations and trying to win everyone's approval, this is literally about Nolan and his obsession with luck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:00:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raine_go_away/pseuds/mcleodsy
Summary: The first time Nolan sees the 13 on his wrist, he thinks he's going to be sick.But when he and his parents are watching the Switzerland Czech Republic game from the safety of his house in Winnipeg when he starts keeping his eyes on the number 13 on the ice.His mind works to block out the commentary while something in his heart is screaming "maybe".





	they tell you that you're lucky

**Author's Note:**

> so most of this was written on an airplane after nolan was drafted second overall and then the rest was written on an airplane when he turned off comments on instagram. i just have soft spots for athletes that are held back my injuries bc same.
> 
> the nolan/nico tag is small so i'll fill it out myself if i have to
> 
> title from the taylor swift's the lucky one ok bye 
> 
> also this is un-betaed so be nice to me please
> 
> ALSO there is a fic with a similar premise in the nico/nolan tag already but i didn't know it existed until now. and i think this is pretty different too?

Nolan thought he had gotten over this years ago. The way his lungs constricts after too many brutal sprints on the ice faded into endless endurance that could never prepare him for his first panic attack back when he was a fourteen.

His fingers grip the edge of the sink, his knuckles are white, his hair falling in front of his face, clumped together with sweat.

(There were so many nights where he would try to induce the himself in the dark safety of his bedroom just so he could be strong enough to fight them. It was just a different branch of training, right?)

But it’s back.

He recognizes himself in the frantic eyes that stare back at him in the reflection of the mirror. He drags his fingers through his hair, tugging tightly before he crumbled down to the floor, laying down and pressing his cheeks to the cool tile and willing his heart to stop.

Somehow he manages to drag his phone out from his pocket. Shakily, his fingers tap to the settings of his social media and he shuts the comments off. Then he shuts the whole thing off.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to exhale, tries to feel like himself again. 

 

 

 

Once, when he was younger, and his uncle was home for the All-Star break, they were out on the shooting pad they had set up in the backyard with Nolan’s dad. The cold was nipping at Nolan’s cheeks but he was grinning so much. They had been out for hours now. His cheeks were permanently flushed like always.

“C’mon, Nolan, give me your best shot,” his father teased from the net.

Carefully, Nolan tapped his stick against the surface. The angle, parallel with the goal line, was awful as they tried to recreate the one-timers like in the all-skills challenge. His uncle passed him the puck for the one-timer and Nolan could have sworn he was holding his breath as he shot the puck.

His father yelped out a curse as he jumped back from the net, laughing as he stepped back closer to examine it.

“It’s in!” His uncle cheered and charged straight for him, and he ran right back, colliding with her happily, grinning so hard that his cheeks hurt.

“Lucky shot, son,” his father allowed, stepping closer to muss up Nolan’s hair as he joined in the small celly. But the second that Nolan heard the words, he found feel his cheeks droop as his sister faltered.

He whipped his head around to look up at his father with wide eyes just in time to catch his father’s own panic set in. His uncle released him and his dad crouched down, holding onto Nolan’s shoulder with a warm, gloved hand.

“Lucky?” Nolan echoed in the smallest voice, but it was all he could muster up in the moment.

“Yeah, lucky. Hockey’s a luck based sport, don’t you know?” he said, managing the smallest smile. “Everyone’s so good, there aren’t a lot of scoring opportunities. The better you become, the bigger the goalies are and the smaller the net looks.”

“When you make the show, Nolan, you’re going to want luck on your side,” his uncle adds.

Nolan nodded and the words stuck with him for years.

 

 

 

It’s his first game back in Brandon after his surgery, and he’s crouched in his locker stall. He has his head down, eyes closed, just tracing his thumb over and over the top of his—

“What the hell is _that_?”

The voice breaks through the focus that Nolan has built up. His head whips around and he meets Kale’s skeptical gaze heavy on Nolan’s own hands.

“Oh,” is all he offers up dumbly at first, uncurling his fingers to expose his palm. “It’s uh, a rabbit’s foot. For good luck.” And he can’t help but laugh when he can see Kale’s face turn quickly to disgust as he jumps back.

“Is it _real_?” Kale questions, his voice bordering skepticism in the moment, his eyes still evaluating the keychain in Nolan’s hand.

“Nah, it’s fake. My sister made it for me from one of her old stuffed animals when I was first called up,” he explains and Kale steps closer finally. He reaches for the keychain, and Nolan cautiously offers it to him in return. “I think it works pretty well.”

All Kale does is hum, holding the keychain carefully, holding it up to the light like that would expose something new. “Alright, Patty,” he allows, handing it back before letting out a squawk.

“Are those... fucking _horseshoes_?”

Nolan has never been more thankful for the permanent rosiness in his cheeks and how it can hide his embarrassed flush more often than not, like it was in this moment. “Yeah,” he said sheepishly, reaching into his locker to readjust the magnet in his locker. “I need all the luck I can get.”

Kale just snorts as he walks away.

“Like you need luck, Patty.”

Nolan holds his breath as he finishes lacing his skates because he does. He’s needed all the luck he could get for years now. They just don’t understand.

 

 

 

He’s ten just like the rest of the world when his soulmarks come in. It’s been a few years since his dad talked to him about the importance of luck and in those years his family have come to learn to love Nolan and all of his superstitions.

His sisters happily sit with him during the summer as he picks clovers and his dad will tap his shoulder every time they’re walking to the rink and Nolan nearly steps on a crack.

So, the eve of his tenth birthday, it’s a family affair with him, his parents, and his sisters crunched around the kitchen table where a small cake is waiting to be lit. His sisters are kicking his dad’s butt at monopoly while Nolan’s just watching, content, when his mom lets out a shocked, muffled noise from beside him. 

“What is it?” he asks quietly, tilting his head to look up at her, only recognizing the slightly glassy look in her eyes that she only gets when Nolan comes in with stories about the kids who like to push him around at school and when his sisters radiate a cold kind of fury after long tournaments.

“Your marks came in,” she said, offering him a watery smile.

Excitement flares in his stomach and he lifts his wrists up. His heart is stuttering as he reads over the first one, the initials _NH_ and he thinks this is great, they must have similar first names and that’s exciting –

But the other mark stares back at him and weighs him down with lead. His next breath is trapped in his chest and he can tell that his father is saying something, but he just can’t hear him.

 

_13_

 

Nolan blinks, wills it away with every ounce of his being, but when he looks again, it’s staring right back at him and imprinting itself on the back of his eyelids.

He pushes up from his spot at the table, rushing to the bathroom, his brain playing a blaring alarm of _sick, sick, sick_ until he’s crouched over the toilet bowl and heaving.

He collapses on the ground afterwards, gasping, and he can’t breathe. He curls up on the bathroom floor, his knees to his chin, his sleeves tugged down to hide the marks from view. 

The next chant won’t stop _,_ just _unlucky, unlucky, unlucky._

 

 

For the most part, Nolan forgets the marks are there, burying them under layers of long sleeves and bracelets that his sisters collect for him to help him ward off the bad luck. He needs them more than ever now just so he can get back on the ice and defend his number one ranking after being pushed aside by the trainers at the world juniors camp.

(When he wasn’t cleared, he went back to his billet’s house and screamed into a pillow until his throat felt raw because the charms weren’t working. They had to work. _They had to_.) 

This is when he remembers them again, while he’s sitting on the couch back home during the break and watching the World Juniors games once he got the cold fury in him to calm.

Except for Canada games.

He wasn’t over that yet.

It still stung too much to see fucking Mat Barzal playing on a line with Dylan fucking Strome. Hell, it still stung when he opened up Kale’s fucking snapchats every night to keep their streak alive.

Those still stung, but he was getting over it.

They were still his boys.

So, he and his parents were watching the Switzerland Czech Republic game from the safety of his house in Winnipeg when he starts keeping his eyes on the number 13 on the ice.

He digs his fingernails into his wrist until it stings enough to keep his breathing steady and focused. His mind works to block out the commentary while something in his heart is screaming _maybe_.

 

 

 

After his first surgery Nolan felt like his skin was too small and he was vibrating out of it from just sitting in his room instead of being out on the ice. So, he does what any good Canadian boy does when he feels a little too antsy: he sneaks out.

And by sneaking out, he means walking down the stairs and mumbling that he was going to sleep over at Tanner’s house. Then, he proceeded to walk a few miles of Brandon suburbs to Tanner’s house because he is an _honest,_ good Canadian boy.

The air is cold and his ears are fucking frozen by the time he reaches Kale’s house and starts throwing pebbles at Tanner’s window.

“How come I’m Juliet?” Tanner shouts as he opens the window to grin at Nolan in the dumb way he does.

“What are you – wait, stop yelling you shit?” Nolan hisses.

“What’s up, Patty?”

“Let’s…” Nolan starts and he can’t find the words. “Let’s do something.”

Tanner snorts at him.

“Real articulate you are, my dude. What kinda something?” and even though his words are mocking, he’s pulling on a sweatshirt, jingling his keys and climbing out the window onto the roof because Tanner is just so fucking extra.

“I dunno,” he mumbles, burying his hands in his pockets. “I… I kinda want to get a tattoo.”

The moment he says the word, Tanner almost slips off the roof in reaction and Nolan is running closer even though he just had surgery done and it fucking hurts. 

“Jesus, Kaspy, don’t fall!”  but Tanner gets off the roof with some expertise and jabs his finger at Nolan’s chest.

“Who are you and what have you done with Nolan Patrick?” he says seriously before unlocking his car and motioning for Nolan to follow. Nolan follows because when he’s off the ice, that’s the easiest thing to do. He’s grateful for the heat coming from the vents and sighs in relief right when Tanner starts cursing again. “I forgot to close my window.”

Nolan can’t stop laughing as Tanner contemplates going back through the front door just to close it before announcing, “fuck it, I’ll deal with it later.”

They drive around for an hour to find an open tattoo place and walk in with some hot chocolate that Tanner makes Nolan buy at a McDonald’s in exchange for gas. 

But they get there in one piece and Nolan is quietly talking to the tattoo artist who raises an eyebrow at their supposed ages. 

“Are you gonna get a shamrock, Patty?” Tanner asks as he settles into a chair. Nolan’s cheeks flush as he shakes his head. He’s not that embarrassing.

“I was thinking of maybe clover flowers,” he says slowly and watches as the guy starts sketching. “I want the luck to be more… hidden.”

And that’s how they do a few small tattoos in one night.

The clover flowers for luck. The ship on his bicep as a quiet allusion to the Rime of the Ancient Mariner even though he isn’t a sailor because Nolan would feel awkward getting an albatross done. Then there’s his grandfather’s birthday because he was the first one in the family to crack the NHL and Nolan wanted to carry a part of him with him always.

He lays back and hardly even winces once it starts. As each little symbol appears, part of him settles and feels at ease again. His mind is chanting _never again_ and the pain from the healing scar of his surgery is drowned out by the buzz of the needle.

 

 

 

At the top prospects match Nolan can’t even settle into himself on the ice. He’s just constantly chasing the puck and chasing opportunities but never the net. He’s setting everyone else up and internally balks at the idea of taking a shot himself.

Something inside him feels ablaze every time he skates up to take the face off against Hischier. He suppresses the shudder that wants to run up his spine every time he makes eye contact with him.

He stands by and watches as Hischier becomes first star of the game even though Team Cherry finally breaks its losing streak. The feeling of being less than settles heavy into his stomach. He can’t help but think this is the curse of his soulmark.

After the game, he’s at a party with all of the prospects piled into someone’s hotel room. Nolan forces himself to stand taller than he has in months.

That is, until he looks over his shoulder and sees Hischier’s gaze hot on him.

All Nolan can do is blink and feels himself start to shrink in the intensity. He stumbles backward and tries to hide behind Yamamoto, which can’t work at all. He ducks his head down, tugs at his collar.

“Hey, Patty. You good?” Yamamoto asks him, because dub boys fucking stick together.

“Yeah, I just… I think I’m gonna be sick,” Nolan whispers, running his hand through his hair and just trying to breathe.

“You a light weight?” he teases and Nolan musters up a weak smile.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, shoving Yamamoto’s shoulder before he lets himself leave the party. When he reaches the door, he doesn’t even look over his shoulder at Hischier again, but he can still feel his gaze hot on his back and that’s enough to make Nolan panic.

That night, as he’s walking to his room and the world feels like it’s spinning, Nolan feels fingers curl around his wrist. And there’s Hischier, staring at him intently before tugging him into a hotel room that has to be his own.

“I’m Nico,” he says while he’s fumbling against the wall for the light switch.

“I know.”

  

 

 

Right after his first game with Wheat Kings, his parents drive him to dinner. The car is filled with a warm sense of familiarity and Nolan lets himself melt into it.

At the restaurant, his mom pushes a small box towards him across the table with a knowing smile on her face.

“You’re almost there,” his dad says as Nolan carefully peals away the paper. “You’re going to want to start getting used to it.”

Inside, there’s a thin gold chain that Nolan takes into his hands. There are two charms: a clover and a horseshoe.

“Is it—“ he starts to ask, turning the charm over with his finger but his mom cuts him off.

“Upright,” she finishes for him. “We know, Nolan.”

A sudden rush of warmth blooms in his chest as he just smiles at them, opening his mouth for words but none come. He fumbles with the clasp a little bit, but he manages to get it on and the chain hangs around his neck and the charms rest just against the center of his chest 

“Thank you.” 

His voice is small and his dad just beams at him. Nolan takes a deep breath, focusing on the way his chest expands and the slight weight of the charms against his skin.

He can’t thank them properly though.

(Most days, he wears the chain and tucks it underneath the collar of his shirt so it’s out of sight. He doesn’t need other people to see it and think he’s weaker than they do already.)

 

 

 

“This can’t be happening.”

Nolan doesn’t know how he managed those words because he feels like he’s suffocating and he’s making a move for the door to get to his own hotel room. Nico stops him though, stepping in front of him and Nolan takes a step back.

He takes a lot of steps back when it comes to them, he supposes. 

They’re both silent and Nolan can hear how ragged and shaky his breathing has become. Mentally, he’s searching for who could possibly Nico’s roommate and where he could possibly be just so Nolan could get out of here.

“It has to be!” Nolan flinches at the urgency in Nico’s voice, how earnest he sounds. “I have your number and your initials.”

Nolan manages to keep his face stoic as he stares back at Nico. Nico keeps looking like he’s searching, like he’s waiting for Nolan to break like he has these past seasons. 

 He won’t.

“And you have mine,” Nico finishes quietly.

He does. 

Nolan flinches like he’s been hit, shaking his head. Another step back, away from Nico.

“You don’t know that,” he protests, but it’s weak. Nico can see it and he takes a step forward, closer to Nolan, but it’s a cautious move, as if he’s scared Nolan will snap.

“Unlucky number thirteen, yes?” Nico continues and Nolan can’t fucking breathe.

He wants to turn away from Nico, just separate himself from this as much as possible. But that’s impossible because of the number and initials on Nolan’s wrists. Fate has tied them together and they’ll see a lot more of each other at the combine and all of the events leading to the draft.

 This is just the beginning.

“It is pretty unlucky,” he eventually says.

Nico just… grins at him. His face is lighting up and Nolan just wants to understand _why_.

 “But it brought you me,” and he sounds so satisfied that Nolan wants to scream. He doesn’t though, he just… doesn’t.

 “Exactly.”

 Nolan watches as Nico’s eyes widen slowly and his expression slowly crumbles and Nolan fucking bolts out of the room as fast as he can. Unlike earlier, he looks over his shoulder, back at Nico.

 Nico’s expression looks destroyed as he stares at Nolan with glassy eyes. Before he can say anything, Nolan slips out of the door and just _runs_.

 

 

 

He remembers watching the final of World Juniors and seeing the hearts of so many of what could have been his team break on national television. The entire game he was clutching the charms of his necklace.

 But they still lose and he’s left breathless back home, watching it all from afar.

 It’s as much his loss as it is theirs. This was supposed to be his team too. The charms he wore weren’t enough, the ink in his skin couldn’t ward off the bad luck that comes with the thirteen on his skin.

 The fact that he was even considered for the roster was unlucky enough. He brought this bad luck to the team. He just knows it.

 The next day, he sees articles about Nico Hischier deserving to go first after his performance with Switzerland. Nolan recognizes him immediately, the same number thirteen from all of those games he watched and he _knows_.

 He closes the tabs right then and there and figures that fate must hate him for giving him a soulmate that will take away everything he’s worked so hard for.

 Nolan just wants to know why him?

 

  

 

When he gets back from the Top Prospects game, everything feels off. Nolan hesitates on and off the ice more often than not. He recognizes the signs, and he figures his game doesn’t need him fighting a soul bond on top of all of his injuries.

He asks around quietly, and eventually he gets Nico’s number from one of the guys. It takes him nearly two weeks before he even sends anything.

 

 **Nolan:** this is Nolan

 **Nolan:** I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.

 

His hands are shaking after he hits send. Before he can even lock his phone again, it buzzes.

 

 **Nico:** I’m sorry too

 **Nico:** I shouldn’t have pushed you

 

And that’s how it begins. Or, how it starts over. They start texting more often than not and Nolan finally feels like he can breathe properly.

Nolan can feel himself relaxing more into the game again and he feels less pressed about luck for the first time since that time in his backyard. It feels like relief because Nolan has officially done everything he possibly can.

 It’s out of his hands now.

 

 

 

It’s getting all too common at this point. The combine is no different.  Nolan’s chest feels too tight, his lungs feel locked, and it is definitely not from windgate because it’s been hours since them.

Nolan had let himself be dragged along to another party because they’re eighteen and dumb, this is what they’re supposed to do. All Nolan can manage to do is muster up smiles and hope they pass off as normal when everyone screams in his ears about throwing up earlier.

He knows he is practically vibrating – or is he trembling? What’s the difference these days? He doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know anymore. 

But then he looks up from his cup and there’s — there’s Nico, staring back at Nolan even though Nolan fucked up last time. He fucked it all up but Nico is crossing the room, weaving between everyone until he places his hand on Nolan’s shoulder.

Just the touch of Nico’s hand has Nolan gasping as tension begins to drain out of him and he just crumbles with it.

“Let’s go outside,” Nico says, having to speak directly in Nolan’s ear and Nolan shudders.

But he lets Nico guide him through the people. His ears are thrumming with white noise at this point.

He’s gasping for air once they’re outside and he’s just struggling to get the cold air in. He can breathe better out here than he could inside, and it’s a start.

Nico watches Nolan as he continues to struggle for air and he’s beginning to panic because it’s not enough, not enough. Tears are pricking his eyes because it’s never been this bad before and he searches for Nico’s gaze.

Then, Nico reaches for him.

Nico tugs him into his arms, onto a chair with him, and Nolan allows himself this. He allows himself to collapse into his soulmate’s touch. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s pressing the side of his head against Nico’s shoulder.

“You’re good,” Nico mumbles, folding his arms around Nolan. “You’re good, I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, Nolan feels like he can breathe again.

The world stops spinning around him. He does the unthinkable and continues to relax into Nico’s touch, still shuddering through his breaths but with much less difficulty now.

Everywhere Nico is touching him doesn’t feel electric like all of those teachers and books said in health and biology classes. It feels like the opposite for Nolan. He feels numb finally and god, he _needed_ this.

Then it hits him.

“I…” he starts, his voice cracking and Nico attempts to shush him. He swallows thickly, finally opening his eyes to watch Nico

“I’m sorry,” he rasps out, but that’s all he manages. “I… I didn’t mean…” but his voice cuts out. _I didn’t mean to push you away. You deserve better. I need you._

“I know,” is all Nico says.

It’s enough.

It’s all Nolan needs to give himself permission to press his face into the crook of Nico’s neck and allow himself this moment.

 

  

 

The night before the Draft is different.

They’re in Nico’s room again, but they’re on the bed with the television illuminating the dark room. Nolan is pressed up against Nico, his head resting on his shoulder, where he fits right against the crook of his neck.

This is where Nolan decides he belongs. This is where he can just breathe.

He doesn’t think about going first anymore. In fact, he stopped about a week ago when Nico told him that Kimball asked him to throw a catfish when they were at Bridgestone.

That’s when Nolan knew.

Because he wasn’t asked that question. He was greeted with hard stares and questions about surgeries and injuries. It didn’t terrify him like it used to.

And it’s only because it was Nico.

Now, they’re a mess of limbs tangled together and Nolan can’t believe how long he managed to deprive himself this. How long he managed to deprive himself of Nico who is so patient with him, who lets him hesitate, who eases the panic out of him.

“I didn’t mean it, you know,” he says quietly, reaching for Nico’s hand.

Nico only let’s out a hum in question, mindlessly watching the television while his other hand gently traces patterns against the back of Nolan’s shoulder.

“I’m lucky to have you.” The next breath he takes is shuddering as he focuses on their hands, just slowly intertwining their fingers while he begins to ramble. “I’m so lucky to have you and… I’m sorry. For taking so long. And for expecting too much—“

But Nico’s kissing him, cutting him off.

At first, all Nolan can think it _we could have had this sooner_.

Eventually it’s drowned out with thoughts of just _Nico, Nico, Nico_.

  

 

 

Nolan is pushing himself off the tile of his bathroom floor hours later when he turns his phone back on and looks past all of his notifications to call Nico. The dial tone barely sounds before Nolan is greeted with Nico just saying his name.

“I need you,” Nolan blurts out and Nico goes silent. It’s like he’s holding his breath on the other end of the line. “I always need you more than you need me.”

He starts rambling and it deteriorates into incoherency about how it’s bad again, how he needs Nico to feel okay, and how he hates how weak he is now. His hands are trembling and his eyes are squeezed shut when Nico starts shushing him.

Nico tells him over and over that these people don’t matter. That these people will never understand. That Nolan is stronger than he thinks.

“You’re going to prove them wrong in Philly.”

Nico says it like a promise and Nolan just wants to both laugh and cry.

“You’re allowed to need me, you know,” Nico practically whispers. “I’m your soulmate. I need you too.”

Nolan knows this, so he tells Nico that in a shaky voice. Nico snorts in response.

“I just forget sometimes.”

“Yeah. You do.”

“I’m sorry,” Nolan says for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Jesus, Nolan. Stop saying that you’re sorry,” and Nolan knows Nico well enough now to know that he’s teasing. “Also, we’re pretty lucky if you ask me.”

Nolan startles himself with his own laughter.

“ _What_?”

“No, no, just… listen!” Nico says, his voice lighter with his laughter over the phone. “Like… we get drafted close to each other. It’s only about an hour drive! See? We’re lucky. 

“Yeah, yeah. I guess we are.”

“See? I told you thirteen wasn’t that bad.”

“You still have to get a license to come see me.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Nolan is laughing too hard to answer any of Nico’s questions about driving and before long, Nico is demanding that Nolan facetime him. It feels normal, and Nolan feels like himself again.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> some extras that didn't make the cut: 
> 
> \- the day after the instagram thing, nico goes to nolan's house and they hug and nolan cries a lil and it's sappy af  
> \- when the season starts, nico sends nolan a little black cat charm and nolan laughs so hard he cries because he misses his boyfriend  
> \- nolan teaches nico to drive over the summer in winnipeg
> 
> if you want to scream about these two on the regular, you can find me and my toast aesthetic on tumblr @toastytavares and on twitter @tysontoasty_17


End file.
